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Dispatches from the Co-Prosperity Sphere

We are not defined by the products we buy, the cars we drive, the books we read or the movies we watch. We are more than consumers. We are producers, and we believe that every new skill we acquire makes our lives and our world a little bit better.

4.29.2004

I Am Deeply Ashamed

I read this with horror, and then went to the links showing the videos of Iraqi prisoners being tortured.

Granted, some of the pictures being described were so blurry that they could have been anything, but there were others that were crystal clear. The worst part in my mind was the hype that went into the buildup before the war and the excuses after. Iraq in general and Saddam Hussein in particular were demonized and the U.S. soldiers portrayed as gallant white knights come to free the poor oppressed people.

George W. Bush, from a press conference on 1/12/04: "The world is more peaceful as a result of Saddam Hussein not being in power."

George W. Bush, from a press conference on 11/13/04: "Well, first of all, the goal of the terrorists -- whether they be Baathists, or mujahideen fighters, or al Qaeda-type fighters -- is to create terror and fear amongst average Iraqis -- is to create the conditions where people are just so fearful for their lives that they cannot think positively about freedom."

George W. Bush, from a press conference on 10/8/03: "I was not about to leave the security of the American people in the hands of a madman. I was not going to stand by and wait and trust the sanity and restraint of Mr. Saddam Hussein."

This page is fairly typical of the thinking of the pro-war set - that anyone who reminded us of the U.S.'s part in Saddam Hussein's government or implied that this was not going to be a clean sweep was unAmerican and in league with the devil.


And now we see that "we" are "they," and everyone is the same. And George Bush is Lord of the Flies.

Love

There's the kind of love that you dream about as a kid - the kind where you're so wrapped up in the other person that it threatens to absorb you, your beloved can and does move mountains for you, the only wish for each of you is to see the other be happy...
and then there's the kind that you think about as an adult - a companion, someone who doesn't piss you off too badly, someone who doesn't embarrass you in public, someone who may not be everything you dreamed about as a kid, but with whom you can live...

How lucky am I that I got the former? And having lived through the latter, I can really appreciate it?

4.24.2004

Warning - Some of This is Extremely Silly

This part's not.

Woke up this morning feeling kind of yucky, but decided to go to Palo Alto to find a better fountain pen. All the Lamys I have used have leaked. The Rotring clogs. Let's try this Cross. It's black and heavy, fine nib. It takes (of course) only Cross cartridges, but I got a bottle of a nice avocado-colored ink. We'll see how this goes. So far, so good. Smooth line, easy to grip. We'll see how it goes.

While we were at University Art, I bought a couple of calligraphy nibs. They're simple and of an extremely fine point. I also bought a contraption called an "Xtra Hands" that consists of a heavy weighted base and arms with alligator clips and a magnifying glass. When I got home, I successfully cut down the cufflink bases I got at Global Bead a few weeks ago. I used the Xtra Hands thing to hold them together while I soldered them. So...the upshot is a pair of beautiful new fountain pen nib cufflinks for my french cuffed shirts. I also finished that nice pin with the flower hook for the lorgnette.

This is where the silly part starts. Then I looked up and realized that my house is a pit. There is not a single room in my house that's anything close to orderly. I ran around the house filling up trash bags and putting things away and running loads of laundry and dishes. And all the while, Farscape is playing in the background. All of the conversations that the characters are having are flying around my mind, and I'm carrying baskets of laundry around.

I hand a basket of laundry to Peaches, and she takes out a pair of underpants and puts it onto my head. I think about what would happen if you replace the concept of "world" with the concept of "underpants" in any kind of science fiction.

Brave New Underpants....Stranger in Strange Underpants....."these underpants were a paradise - your kind made a desert of them!"...."In your underpants, no one can hear your scream".......The Waistband.......

And then it stopped being science fiction.

Disneypants - the Happiest Place on Earth!.....The Pirates of Ben's Pants...

There are pants of laughter and pants of tears
There are pants of hopes and pants of fears
There's so much that we share,
Like our own underwear
They're just small pants after all!


Third grade, sure, but I'll bet you giggled.

4.21.2004

More Yes Than No

My glass is half full of emptiness, and half empty of joy.

It's lawsuit season, and my ex is going around the deep end. Not only is he being his usual "I'm going to resist paying what I owe" self, but he's actively trying to cheat me out of what he owes me. It just feels like it gets worse and worse every year. On top of that, I'm having motorcycle problems. My bike was being unreliable for a few weeks, but the guys at the shop I usually took it to wouldn't take me seriously. I had to take it to a different shop for someone to listen to me. And last but not least, I had gotten new reading glasses about five weeks ago, and I have it a full two weeks before I decided that they just sucked. They made things much worse and I was getting nauseous trying to wear them to do my work.

There came a day a couple of weeks ago where I got to work and the network was down. I couldn't do anything. I called the optometrist and took my reading glasses in and after being seated in the examination room, having him run a bunch of tests and being told in that condescending doctor way "we didn't change your prescription, we just made it into reading glasses," I finally got them to look at the glasses themselves, and it was the wrong prescription. Go figure.

I picked up The Pirate and went to pick up my motorcycle, and we ended up getting into a dumb argument. Between picking up my bike and my chiropractor appointment, I was going to stop at the grocery store, but ended up getting a ticket because I was lost and frantically trying to find the right road. I didn't say anything to the cop, but when he came back to make me sign the ticket, I had just given up and was crying freely. Fuck it. What was he going to do at that point?

Yesterday I found out that my taxes are screwed up because of my ex's shenanigans. But it only means that I'm going to get a much smaller refund, not that I'm going to have to pay. This morning I was at a restaurant having a very nice breakfast with The Pirate and a cop came out of the coffee shop across the street and was just standing there, looking at my bike. My stomach tightened as I wondered if now I was going to get a parking ticket, but he was just smiling and nodding at it.

The Pirate took the Baby Goddess into Baby School today and before she got a chance to sulk, another even sulkier kid came in. She took this other little kid by the hand and led him back to where all the little babies were having breakfast, happy as a clam.

So, on the one hand, it's a shitstorm out there. On the other hand...it's good for the flowers.

4.15.2004

Screed: ADD Nation

It started with Happy Days, which premiered in January of 1974.

I was only 8 and therefore had no experience of the time being portrayed. But even then I had the distinct impression that the '50s were being sanitized for my protection. When the show started it was a Leave It to Beaver family living in a Leave It to Beaver world, albeit with jokes that were a little less cute and a little more risqué. By the time it ended about 10 years later, the '50s nostalgia had morphed into '60s nostalgia and we had come into a time where memory served me.

The '60s that I remember were scary, turbulent and kind of smelly. My '60s were violent and confrontational and took the very most basic assumptions that people were making about our society and our government and challenged them in ways that could not possibly have been portrayed on a prime time television show in the 1980s. The '60s I remembered had very little to do with Richie Cunningham and his difficult choice between going to Vietnam and staying home and marrying his college sweetheart. I'm sure that's a choice many people made, but it was never cute or sweet or solved in 24 minutes.

The spiral of nostalgia continues to tighten. We are recycling timeframes closer and closer to us. The 60s are over, the 70s are having the last dregs sucked out of them, and I've been noticing that it's impossible to step into many retail shopping establishments without being inundated with 80s music being touted as the "new" sound.

The driver behind the need for nostalgia is the need for companies to sell us products that are at once new and familiar. We want the stuff that we wanted when we were kids - the stuff we perhaps didn't get then, but can now afford. We want it because we all had crappy childhoods and were deprived and made to feel stressed and unhappy. The fact that people seem to have such a hard time finding personal fulfillment can't possibly be their fault. It's because all their dreams were not fulfilled as children, isn't it?

In 1970, "The Phil Donahue Show" premiered and over the next 24 years went from a run-of-the-mill second-string talk show featuring celebrities and musical acts to a show that took on social issues in a way that was often confrontative and controversial. The most popular of these shows proved to be "victim" shows. Someone was wronged, and Phil was there to tell America about it. But then Oprah (she started in this space too) and Sally Jesse and Rikki and Jerry got into the act and before we knew it, everyone was a victim.

Nobody was responsible for themselves anymore. If you didn't feel good, it was because someone else was keeping you from feeling good. It wasn't that you were an alcoholic, too fat, too lazy to try hard in school or had never been taught even the most basic societal norms by your parents. It was that society was against you and it wasn't your fault, and any actions on your part stemming from these wrongs done you were not your responsibility.

Now we come to the evil marriage of "I don't recall anything that happened more than 20 minutes ago" with "I am a victim and not responsible for my actions." The bastard child of this marriage is our current president, George W. Bush.

I have been listening to the testimony given by those being questioned by the 9/11 Commission. The people being questioned are members of the current administration, as well as members of the Clinton administration and the answers being given are a textbook definition of "dysfunctional." Just one tiny instance: Dr. Condoleezza Rice was given a distillation of all of the information that both the FBI and the CIA had, but nobody "told [her] what to do with it," so she never passed it along to her boss, although she sees nothing in this failure to apologize for.

Everyone in the current administration defends their decision to go to war, but nobody, neither the questioners nor the questioned, are specifying which war. There is the original war in Afghanistan, where we were pursuing al Qaeda and Osama bin Laden, the alleged perpetrators of the World Trade Center attacks. But that war just sort of .... .... tailed off. And in its place, we have the "War Against Terrorism," which is much less clearly defined and therefore can be manipulated to include anybody who won't do business with the U.S. on the U.S.'s own terms. Saddam Hussein, for instance.

We need these wars, because we as a country were wronged by bad people who don't like us because we have freedom and thong bikinis and both Pepsi AND Coke and SUVs and George Foreman sandwich grills. They are desperately jealous that we have free elections for which nobody shows up to vote and entire supermarket aisles devoted solely to breakfast cereal. What have we ever done to them that they should be so violently against us, other than to live a blessed life?

We are the victims here, and George W. Bush is going to keep hammering that message home. The U.S. is not just blameless, but is showing what a good and kind and generous nation it is by going in and "liberating" those ungrateful bastard Iraqis, whether they want it or not. And because we're Americans, we don't remember that Hussein had nothing to do with the 9/11 attacks, that Hans Blix stated months before the invasions were planned that there were no weapons of mass destruction or chemical weapons, that Hussein promised that the Iraqis would draw this conflict out into a guerilla war that would leave the U.S. with the blood of its own soldiers and a lot of Iraqi civilians on its hands.

The rest of the world never bought our story. The rest of the world pointed to our past actions and said "You made your bed. You lie in it alone." But Americans don't understand that. The rest of the world said "There is no reason to do this," but they don't understand what it's like to be the victim, do they? Do they?

We don't watch television at my house, so I'm missing out on the campaign ads that I understand have already started. George W. Bush is telling people that he understands what America needs to succeed. He understands the need to ignore the past and keep beating the drum of victimhood long and loud, leading our troops into a messy and unpopular war that even our tenuous allies are unwilling to continue fighting. And the more shit he stirs up, the more America isolates itself, the more we will be able, as a nation, to wallow in our well-earned victimhood.

I'm not a victim. I'm not willing to be quiet. I'm tired of this.

4.12.2004

Hopeful

I am beseiged (as are we all) with the rotten news of the world every day. Our own government works against us; the population of the earth is poisoning itself; greed, anger and stupidity run rampant in every quarter of the globe and it seems as though those on the bottom are held down by insurmountable forces.

And then I see evidence of the resourcefulness and determination of people, and it never fails to give me hope for the future.

Eventful Weekend, Surprisingly Little to Say

Thursday night went to an editing session with a few people from my group. Got some really good feedback on the story I'm about to send out (after some little revisions). Got a couple of really nice compliments, too. It makes me happy to hear that, after running my story through several distillations, it reads as tightly as I hoped it would.

Took Friday off to prepare for the first camping trip of the season. Click on any of the individual pics for a bigger view.

I'm not ready to take on the week yet.

4.07.2004

Driving Shaman

I now wish I had been paying much closer attention. If only I could remember the exact number of long and short beeps, the formation of the creative hand gestures and the exact wording of the charm that went something like "You [people who do genetically inadviseable things], just get off the [act of procreation] road" uttered in a voice that carried over at least four lanes. And I'm quite positive that the repetition of this mystical ritual is what caused the gridlock to break up.

And that was probably incense pouring from your tailpipe.

Too Long in the Car

I got into the car with the Baby Goddess at 7:30. On a normal day, the BG would be dropped off at daycare by 7:40, and I'd be at work by 8:00. Today, however, there are Things To Be Taken Care Of.

First to the bank to draw some cash to pay back Stephanie, who kindly spotted me for a pair of lovely sandals, made lovelier by the fact that they were on sale, and that by the two of us buying them together, we saved even more. It called to mind the fact that she's out this morning, tending to her dog who is undergoing surgery. I'm sending hope and strength in her direction, just in case.

The BG was happy as we listened to Space Ghost (the "Musical Bar-B-Que" album). We got to Baby School, and she promised me that by the time I pick her up tonight, she will have grown at least four inches. As I was leaving, her teeth were gritted and her little fists clenched as she tried growing. We'll see how this works out.

Got on the road, usual traffic muck, except that this time I had to go several miles out of my way to make sure that my motorcycle, which broke down on the freeway on Monday, was still in the parking lot where I left it. Yup. Everything's good. Made it into work only an hour and freakin' fifteen minutes after I left home. Gross.

Now I get to arrange for having the darling towed. To a shop other than the one which originally told me that the problem that eventually landed me on the freeway with a dead bike was all in my head. It reminded me of the joke about Moshe and the faith healer.

Moshe runs into a faith healer who asks him how his family is. "My uncle is very sick," Moshe says. "He's not sick," the faith healer says. "He just thinks he's sick." The next week Moshe runs into the same faith healer who asks after the uncle. "He thinks he's dead."

4.03.2004

Car Buying - It's Not Just for Boys Anymore

But for heaven's sake, don't tell that to anyone who actually works in a car dealership.

The Pirate and I went to order a Prius today. At the first place we went to, we walked around the showrooms and out on the lot looking for one to test drive, but didn't see any. Nor did anyone offer to help us. At one point, I poked the Pirate just to make sure he was corporeal, because I was a little worried we had vanished into mist and this was why the salesfolk weren't coming anywhere near us. I'm sure the fact that we were both dressed like college students who had just tumbled out of bed didn't help.

Finally a scruffy-looking guy with tiny teeth that made him look evilly rodent-like asked if we were being helped. "No, we're not. We'd like to test a Prius."

"Oh, we don't have any on the lot. We were down to our last one, and we sold the demo. They're very popular, you know. We're not getting any more until the 2005s come out, so even if we ordered you one today, you'd have to wait six months anyway. You can just order it. There's no difference between the 2004s and the 2005s"

The Pirate looked at me, and I raised one eyebrow. We both said thank you, but no. The Pirate was a little nervous about having to wait six months for the new car, and I told him that I didn't believe word one out of that guy's mouth, especially since he told us that he was getting another demo in next week.

We went to the second dealership. We didn't even get in the door before a guy came and asked us what we would like to see. He brought out the keys to the Prius and we drove it around. The guy told us that it'll take about three months (not six! shock!) The Pirate got to drive first since he's over 2 meters tall and his ability to fit into and use the car is critical. I drove it. It doesn't have much pickup, and the design of the back window is really bad. The view is horizontally interrupted by a big bar going all the way across, and what little visibility you do have is reduced if there is anyone in the back seat. But the back cargo space is ample enough for an entire week's groceries and then some, and the gas milage is phenomenal, so we ended up deciding in favor.

Once we got inside, it was time to do the little dance. Of course the sales guy started talking to the Pirate, but before the conversation went very far, I sent the Pirate out to our car to get my glasses and I started firing questions at the sales guy. When it came time to fill in paperwork, it was all done in my name. The $500 that had to be put down to order the car was put on my credit card. The only tough part of the negotiation was over the FLOOR MATS. The floor mats are listed as optional and cost $184. I said no, but the guy said "Well, you really have to buy them." "No, I really don't," I said. "I can't give you the car without the floor mats," he said. "I'm not paying $184 for floor mats that I can get at Kragen for $50. No floor mats."

He went away on the obligatory "I've gotta talk to my manager" trip, and came back with "He said that you have to get the floor mats." I told him that I had no problem with walking out. The Pirate and I nodded at each other, and the guy said "Well, we'll see if we can't just take them off."

Yeah. See if you can't just take them off.

I ended up writing on the order sheet NO FLOOR MATS. SHE MEANS IT.

And then, as we were walking out, the salesman said "Thank you, sir!" to the Pirate.